


Chord

by tiigi



Series: Henry/Bill [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Henry’s Growing Obsession, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi
Summary: In many ways, Henry gets what he wants. Beverly Marsh leaves, her freak show friends are all broken up about it, and Denbrough is alone.
Relationships: Henry Bowers/Bill Denbrough
Series: Henry/Bill [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564909
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	Chord

In many ways, Henry gets what he wants. Beverly Marsh leaves, her freak show friends are all broken up about it, and Denbrough is alone. Henry gets to stand by and watch him cycle past on his own, gets to fantasise about Bill on his knees now without fantasising about killing Beverly Marsh first.

Henry wants Bill so bad it hurts. He wants to hurt Bill, wants to hurt himself just for that. 

And instead of finally acting on it, Henry doubles down. The self proclaimed Loser’s Club has disbanded and Bill is all alone now, which makes him a prime target for Henry’s brand of teasing.

Or, as everybody else tends to call it, bullying. 

Still, being friendless doesn’t account for why Henry finds Bill alone in the park late one evening, just sitting on a bench and staring off into space. It’s deserted aside from Bill and Henry, who doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet. Dark is just beginning to set and it’s getting cold; Bill doesn’t have a jacket on, and Henry can see the goosebumps raised on his bare arms. He shouldn’t be standing here just watching - he should be coming up with a plan of attack at the very least - but he can’t seem to stop. Bill is so beautiful with his defences down, with his hair messy and his eyes fluttering shut. There’s a bruise blooming over his cheekbone.

Eventually, Henry fucks up. He takes a step closer, unable to stop himself as though drawn by a magnetic pull, and fallen leaves crunch underfoot. Bill jerks suddenly, taken by surprise, and stands up before Henry can get any closer. He takes a few stumbling steps backwards and scowls, already expecting the worst. Henry can’t exactly blame him. 

“What d-do you want?” Bill asks, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Henry would laugh but he doesn’t have the strength to pretend right now.

“I’m not the one crying on a park bench,” Henry points out, stuffing his hands into his pockets and idling closer. Bill looks around anxiously, as though he expects Henry’s friends to pop out of the bushes and attack him– which, Henry admits, wouldn’t be altogether unlikely. Thankfully, he doesn’t run.

“Fuck you,” Bill says, but it sounds small and pathetic with his voice trembling like it is. “That’s none of your b-business.”

“Good thing I didn’t fucking ask.” Henry covers the distance and takes a seat on the bench Bill just vacated. There is a moment’s hesitation where Bill must question whether or not to run and hide, before he takes a few shuffling steps forward and sits down beside Henry. Neither of them speak for a while. Bill shivers in the cold and, whether he means to or not, ends up shifting closer to Henry, like he’s trying to steal Henry’s body heat.

“W-What are you d-doing here?” It’s a surprise when Bill speaks again. Henry had been enjoying the silence - being able to simply exist near the object of his obsession - but he doesn’t know if he can cope with an actual conversation.

“None of your fuckin’ business, alright?” Henry is hiding from his father, but he’s not about to share that piece of information. He’s lucky already that nobody has seen him hanging out with Denbrough at night– he wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. He’d have to break Denbrough’s face just to set the record straight. 

“Jesus, f-fine,” Bill scowls. It’s adorable, the way his eyebrows pull down and he screws his nose up. “I was just f-fucking asking. F-Forget it.”

“You don’t need to make conversation, Denbrough,” Henry says, and it’s meant to be threatening but it comes out sounding like an excuse. “Not like we’re friends.”

“That’s not m-my fault,” Bill replies instantly, and Henry’s heart drops to his stomach.

Bill is right. It isn’t like Henry has ever tried to set things right, or be nice to Bill. It’s not like he’s ever done anything but fuck things up and disappoint people, and after a while it was easier to do what people expected of him because that way he knows that nobody would judge him for failing. Bill is right and Henry has known this all his life, but the words still sting, still make him irrationally angry. Silence reigns again, and this time Denbrough does nothing to break it. Why doesn’t Henry ever just accept a nice gesture as a nice gesture? Why does it always have to be a threat?

Henry wonders why Bill is out here. Things probably aren’t great at home what with Bill’s dead brother and all but– Henry knows Bill’s parents. They wouldn’t ever lay a hand on their precious Bill, would they? Butch– people expect it of him. They take one look and they think ‘yeah, that guy definitely beats his son’, but Zach Denbrough? For some reason, the thought of Bill being hurt by his father has Henry snarling with rage. Henry hadn’t given Bill that bruise that’s covering his eye, and as far as he knows his friends hadn’t either, so who the fuck was it?

He can’t ask, obviously. Bill can’t know that he’s interested, or that he cares at all, let alone way more than he should. Still, he feels like he’ll throw up if he just lets Denbrough shiver away next to him like that.

Henry shucks off his jacket before he can think it through and drops it in Denbrough’s lap angrily. Bill blinks, justifiably confused and suspicious.

“What?” He asks simply. Henry almost laughs. 

“Wear it,” he grunts, deliberately looking away. 

“I’m not wearing your j-jacket.”

“Oh, so you’re not cold?” Henry snaps, irritated. Bill shrinks back and shuffles away from him along the bench. It feels like a failure and even though Bill had been shivering cold, Henry misses the warmth of his closeness. 

He’s about to ask for his jacket back when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement. Bill, after glancing at him a few times with narrowed eyes, drapes the jacket over his shoulders and draws it around himself like a cape. It’s cute, Henry realises. Bill looks cute with Henry’s jacket all baggy over his shoulders and his hair damp and tousled and, even though Henry didn’t put it there, he even likes the way the bruise looks on Bill’s skin. He must be sick that he likes it but he does, and for a moment he’s almost breathless with how much he wants Bill. He’s so close, he could just reach out and touch and take…

Instead, he hunches over and pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. It’s a little damaged but it’ll light, and he uses his hands to shield the flickering flame. He can feel Bill watching him as he does it, and he fights against the instinctual urge to threaten him, born of years of habit. 

“Do I have something on my fucking face, or what?” Henry says after a while, words muffled around the cigarette in his mouth. Bill flushes pink, shamefaced at having been caught staring, and he looks away.

“No,” he mutters. Maybe Henry is imagining things, but he could swear that Bill presses his nose into the collar of Henry’s jacket, just a little, just enough to inhale the smell of smoke that lingers there. Henry cocks his head.

“You ever smoke before, Denbrough?” He asks, curious. Bill shakes his head. For someone who gets blackout drunk at strangers’ parties, Bill is surprisingly straight edge. 

“You wanna?” Henry plucks the cigarette from between his lips and holds it out to Bill, an offering. The end glows amber in the dark and it casts a soft orange tinge on Bill’s fingers when he reaches out to take it, nervous and trusting, like a baby animal. Henry swallows back desire. He has so much power right now that he’s practically choking on it.

“Just inhale real deep,” Henry says, mesmerised at the way Bill’s cheeks hollow. “And breathe out, slow.”

Bill does as he’s told, and manages all of three seconds of dignity before he’s spluttering and coughing, eyes wet and cheeks red. Henry laughs, but for once it doesn’t feel like he’s being cruel or laughing _at_ Bill. He takes the cigarette from Bill’s hand without being prompted, because he’s waving it about carelessly and he’s going to burn himself otherwise. 

“Jesus,” Bill coughs into the crook of his elbow and shakes his head, preemptively answering Henry’s next question of, ‘again?’

“That’s fucking g-gross. How do you do that every d-day?”

Henry laughs again. “It tastes better when you’re addicted,” he says. “Trust me.”

“They’ll k-kill you,” Bill says.

“Maybe.” Henry shrugs. Slowly, little by little, Bill is inching closer again, and Henry sees it as a win. 

“Thanks, anyway,” he says softly. He captures Henry’s gaze and his eyes are so pretty, so inviting, that Henry can’t look away. He’s captivated by Bill’s expression and when he finally comes back to his senses, he realises that they’ve been watching each other for far too long to be ordinary.

Henry jerks backwards and stands up, so abruptly that Bill inhales sharply in shock. 

“You tell anyone about this,” Henry says, falling back into his role so easily. “I’ll beat the shit out of you. Understand?” He jabs a finger in Bill’s face.

Bill doesn’t seem scared, though he rarely does, and he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he seems intrigued by Henry’s sudden shift in mood, and that’s the worst thing he could be. Intrigued leads to questions leads to answers, and Henry doesn’t have any. At least none that he wants to give.

“Understood,” Bill says. 

Henry turns to go, and remembers at the last minute that Bill still has his jacket. It’ll be a cold walk home without it, and if his father notices it’s missing there will be hell to pay. 

Then he thinks about Bill sitting here all alone in the dark, hurt and cold and trembling, so exposed and vulnerable, and he can’t do it. He can’t take it away. Besides, he likes the way it looks on Bill, the way his clothes hang off Bill’s body, wants to peel them off and explore it with his hands and his tongue. As long as the idiot doesn’t wear it to school, no one ever needs to find out.

“It’ll be dark soon,” he says, one parting line that he can’t keep to himself. He doesn’t want bill going back to a dad who beats him any more than he wants him hanging out in the park at night, but there are bad things in Derry, things that feed on fear and vulnerability, and maybe Bill would be better off taking his chances with his parents.

Not that it matters to Henry anyway. He doesn’t wait to hear Bill’s reply before he’s walking back the way he came. He thinks he hears a soft voice call out, ‘thank you,’ after him, but it’s late, and he’s tired, and he can’t be sure. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it took me such a long time to get back to this series! At the start of quarantine I thought I was gonna be super productive and get a bunch of writing done but... nope :’)
> 
> Anyway, you can find me on tumblr @tiigixox if you feel like leaving a prompt for this series! I hope you enjoyed! <3


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